The Truth is Rarely Pure and Never Simple
by fast84er
Summary: Sara loses her memory. Now vulnerable, can Jake and Ian protect her from Irons, and help Sara to get her memories back before it's too late? Sequel to A Day At The Park. Chapters 4/5 now up and I'll finish the story in a few days.
1. Who? What? Where? When? Why? How? Huh? O...

The Truth is Rarely Pure and Never Simple  
(a quote by Oscar Wilde)  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Witchblade. And like Irons points out, the Witchblade cannot really belong to anyone, let alone Top Cow or TNT or Warner Brothers or shareholders of said companies. But according to US law, somehow they do, so for now I have to live with that.   
Summery: Sara loses her memory. Now vulnerable, can Jake and Ian protect her from Irons, and help Sara to get her memories back before it's too late? Sequel to A Day At The Park.  
Rating: PG (it might change to PG-13 in later chapters though, so this part may be updated)  
Warnings: Some profanity, violence. No sex. There can still be kissing though eg  
Timeline/Spoilers: A few days after Conchobar's death, so you need to have seen Maelstrom. You should probably see Sacrifice too because Gabriel is in this one.   
Lastly: Thanks for the great reviews on my first story!!!  
  
----  
  
"Who are you?" Sara asked.   
  
"My name is Ian Nottingham. Don't worry, I won't hurt you," he quickly assured her. Nonetheless, Sara still looked uneasy. He looked very imposing and dangerous, but there was something about his eyes that made Sara more trusting. His eyes...looking into them, Sara was now sure that he would never hurt her.   
  
"Where am I?"  
  
Ian sighed; this was going to be difficult. "Sara? How much do you remember," he asked softly, as though speaking to a child.   
  
She shifted nervously in her chair. Currently, though she didn't know it, Sara Pezzini was sitting in her apartment, without any recollection of her memories. She knew skills, like how to open doors, make coffee, use her alarm even, but she had no personal memory of who she was. Realizing that she trusted him, and that she needed to figure some things out about herself, say for instance, her name, he would be necessary. What had Ian called her again? Sara??? The pictures all said the same thing, so currently it looked like he was telling the truth.  
  
Making her decision, she starting speaking, slowly and unsure at first, but then becoming more confident. "I woke up here, in this apartment. Where is this anyway? Chicago, New York?" Seeing no answer from Nottingham, she reluctantly continued. "I figure this place must be my home. Even though I don't remember, I know my way around. Like I knew where all the clothes in the dresser would be. Or like when I made a sandwich. I knew where the bread was. It's like I belong here. And then there were a bunch of pictures around of me with other people. One of them had 'Sara and Danny '96' written on the back and since I figure Sara wasn't the name of the taller Asian guy I guessed that's me. I had only been up about 20 minutes and then I looked in my closet to see if I could find a coat. I was going to go down to the hospital or to the police or somewhere that might be able to help me. When I turned around, you were just standing there. That's really weird actually, you must've snuck in my window without my permission, but somehow my instinct said that it was somehow normal. That can't be right... Now it's your turn. Who am I? Where am I? Why can't I remember anything?"  
  
Ian hesitated. It was for her own good that she not know everything right away. That would just get her killed. So instead, he decided to give her some basics, if not for any reason than to gain her trust. Right now if he showed any sign of anything other than honestly she would dart like a frightened animal. "Your name is Sara Pezzini. You're a detective on the NYPD. This is your apartment where you live alone. Today is Monday"   
  
Sara nodded and took all this in. Minimal information, but important.  
  
Ian continued, "I would suggest calling in sick today. You have bigger problems than work right now anyway."  
  
Silently agreeing, Sara looked around for a phone.   
  
But spotting it first, Ian picked it up from the center of a pile of junk food, police reports, wrappers, other odd assortments, and tossed it to her.   
  
"I thought I'd heard a beeping coming from that pile," Sara mused aloud. "Somebody must've called."  
  
  
Checking the caller ID, Ian discovered it had been Jake. Then looking around for a second line to listen in on, he found the other phone of the apartment. Turning his attention back to Sara, he said, I'll tell you what to dial, and when you get an answer, here's exactly what you say..."   
  
----  
  
Jake was worried about Sara. She was more than 3 hours late. He had called earlier, but there had been no answer. Unknown to Jake, Sara had barely been aware of her phone ringing, because of it's current situation of being buried under a mound of junk. For all she knew, it could have been an alarm or timer of some sort. Or because of it's diluted sound, she could have even imagined it. But because Jake didn't know this, he was really starting to worry.   
  
He didn't just worry about her well being, but about her career. When Dante had come looking for her he had to lie again, and then lie a second time when he came again. There was a limit to what he would believe, and after the last few weeks, Jake feared that Dante was quick approaching that point. But the odd thing was, Dante didn't seem mad at her. If anything, he seemed very nervous and edgy. Also, the way he had talked to Jake indicated that he was almost questioning him about something. Seeing if he knew something.   
  
While trying to figure it out, he searched his memory for anything related to the force that seemed unique lately. Then suddenly, it hit him. Orlinski! Sara had made the film look used because she wanted him to think she had evidence of his treason when she didn't. If she had used it against him in blackmail, the first person Orlinkski would go to for help would be Dante. So now he was either going to try to bribe her to leave it alone or threaten her with something to leave it alone. That's why he was nervous, incase his scheme didn't work. And clearly Dante was trying to figure out if the same precautionary measures were required for Jake.  
  
Trying to decided what to do, he was interrupted by a phone call. "Please be Sara," he muttered under his breath. "Yes?" he answered expectantly.   
  
"Jake?"   
  
"Pez, thank God. Where have you been? I tried calling but there was no answer."  
  
"I think I need a few days off Jake. I-I just want some time to myself right now."  
  
"Listen Sara, I understand about Conchobar, but the Captains looking for you. He expects you to be back to work."  
  
On Ian's instruction, Sara continued to say words which had no meaning to her. "I've only had two days since his death."  
  
"And I called you last night, when you said that you were looking forward to the distraction work would bring."   
  
"His funeral is in Ireland tomorrow. I'm going, tell Dante that I'll be back by Friday. I promise."  
  
Before he could respond Sara had hung up on him. "Damn!" Jake cursed loudly.  
  



	2. The day that would seem to last 25 hours

  
Disclaimer: I don't own them, you know I don't, so keep reading.   
  
----  
  
After she had hung up on Jake, Sara thought about the conversation. Apparently someone named Conchobar had died and she was supposed to be sad. Conchobar...What a weird name! That couldn't have been his real name.   
  
"Who was Conchobar?" Sara asked curiously.  
  
"An old friend of yours. You hadn't seen him in a while, and he died in a car crash in Ireland last Friday," Ian lied. It's not like he enjoyed lying to her, but Sara would just be distracted from her purpose right now if she really knew she had lost the love of her life...one of them anyway. She would never guess it, but Ian's devotion to her was greater than even Irons could imagine. In past lives he had been hers and unlike Sara, he could remember vividly. In different countries and centuries they had been together. They belonged together. But then she wasn't quite ready to know that either.   
  
Sara however, had no idea what was going on inside Ian's head, and in her own, she was trying to figure out how to feel about someone named Conchobar. She had no memory about him, but apparently he had been a friend. Despite the fact that she had no clue who he was or what specifically he had meant to her, Sara felt saddened by his death.   
  
"The truth is rarely pure and never simple," said Sara to nobody in particular.   
  
"What?" Asked Ian.  
  
"It's a quote by Oscar Wilde...I think. It's true though."  
  
Ian was silent.  
  
"Think about it even in this situation. I don't appear to have any big bumps or bruises on my head, so it's unlikely this is caused from head trauma. Besides, if it was injury, I would have gone to a hospital. I wouldn't have just gone home for a good night's sleep. And if it wasn't an injury, there aren't a lot of other options. And most of the others aren't accidental, they're intentional."  
  
Ian added, "The most obvious would be chemical poisoning."  
  
Sara silently agreed. "So there has to be some sort of test to figure out what chemical specifically was used. That way maybe we can find an antidote."  
  
"There is a way," Ian admitted. "But the only way I know of isn't feasible...or safe for you."  
  
"Why not?"   
  
"There is an extremely rich and powerful man who I work for named Irons. He had the resources to do a test and find an antidote." But silently Ian wasn't even sure there was an antidote. And besides, not that he would tell her yet, but Ian had good reasons to believe Irons was somehow responsible. Maybe he was working with Cortese... "But, he is not someone to be trusted. There is little chance he would help you, and if he knew of your vulnerability he might take advantage of it."  
  
"How? Why?"  
  
Sighing, and then smiling, Ian looked at her quizzically. "You ask far to many questions. You know that don't you?"  
  
Sara looked back at with mock anger. "Really?"  
  
"Yes. Sometimes you just need to trust me and trust that I would never let anything happen to you."  
  
Suddenly both of them felt quite awkward. This long pause was interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
Ian, immediatly suspicious and paranoid took out his previously concealed gun.   
  
Sara didn't mind the gun, but she wasn't as suspicious. Unlike Ian, she was held a curiousity about everything in her life. She didn't know anything about herself, and so far she knew very little about other people in her life. It was along this train of thought that Sara came to a startling conclusion. In all her questions, she had neglected a very important one that should have immediatly been directed at Ian Nottingham. "You are you to me?" she asked.  
  
Ian gave her a look that clearly told her 'Not now!' but Sara still made a mental note to make it the first item of discusson when they could talk together again.  
  
Each moved to the door and looked through the peephole, the only difference was that Ian did it with one hand on the trigger. Seeing through, he was relieved to see it was only Gabriel Bowman, the internet kid.   
  
"Do we know him?" Sara asked unsurely.  
  
Ian though hard about his answer. He had told that kid Gabriel not to talk to Sara about the Witchblade, but to Ian's shock, Bowman had anyway. That wasn't something that happened often. On the other hand, what did Ian really care if Bowman was telling Sara about the Blade. Ian had only interfered because Irons had ordered him to. Maybe someday something the kid said would help give Sara the upper hand over Irons. That would be worth it.   
  
Also, even though he knew more than Sara right now, he didn't know how exactly she lost her memory. He knew that her last case was investigating a drug dealer named Cortese. Cortese had been dealing for more than 8 years, and was suspect in 4 murders, but without evidence there was nothing the NYPD could do about it. Sara knew this but was still sent to investigate the murder of his business associate, Evenmere, who had been stealing some of the money from Cortese. The investigation into his murder was proving useless, but then by accident Sara discovered that Cortese was not just a run-of-the-mill drug dealer. He was actually an international arms dealer who used drugs as a cover. But this discovery was recent, so recent that Sara hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Jake yet. That night she went out to one of the clubs where Cortese does business, and when she came home she went to sleep. The next morning...  
  
"Ian!" Sara asked again, trying to keep her voice down.  
  
"What?" he replied, yanked out of his thoughts.  
  
"You didn't answer he when I asked if we know him."  
  
"Yes, we do. He's a friend."  
  
Seeming happy enough, Sara opened the door to see Gabriel Bowman, holding a plain folder.  
  
"What took you so long to answer the door?" he asked, not noticing that Sara didn't seem quite herself. "I almost left to go look for you at the precinct, but when I called, Jake said that you still might be here. Something about missing your flight..." He let that sentence hang open, hoping Sara would complete it with an explanation, but he received none.  
  
Then turning around for the first time, he saw Nottingham. Instinctively he took a step back in fear. When they had first met, Ian Nottingham had tried to bribe him not to talk about the Blade with Sara. When that didn't work, Ian had threatened him. But Bowman talked to Sara anyway. Since that one meeting, Gabriel had not seen or heard from Ian, figuring it was a good sign, and that Ian's threats were empty, that he was bluffing. Seeing him in Sara's apartment, gun in hand, only several feet away from him, the young kid wasn't so sure anymore.   
  
"What are you doing here?" all three asked simultaneously, Sara and Ian to Gabriel, Gabriel to Ian.   
  
Sara sighed, and then muttered under her breath, "This is going to be a long day."  
  
TBC  
  



	3. Sara Pezzini vs...Dana Scully???

  
Disclaimer: I own everything and everyone and everywhere in this story. Just kidding. Put down those pens and legal documents lawyers, I didn't mean it!   
  
----  
  
Sara looked between the two guys. Ian still had his gun clearly visible, which was clearly still bothered Gabriel. Sara, however, didn't see the point. The boy seemed harmless, and if anything he was helpful. After the Mexican standoff between Ian and Gabriel, Sara immediately informed him of her situation.  
  
"So you don't remember anything?" Gabriel asked unbelievingly.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"What did you come here for?" Ian asked, clearly impatient with Gabriel.  
  
"I have some new info that you won't believe. I told Sara a quick summery on the phone late last night and we were going to meet at the precinct this morning. When I called to cancel, l Jake told me you were here and since I was only about a block away, I figured it would only take me a second to give you the folders blah blah blah..."   
  
"Information on what?" Sara asked curiously.  
  
"The Witch...uh oh," mumbled Gabriel, realizing that Sara didn't yet know what he was talking about.   
  
"You have information on witches?" Sara asked incredulously. "Do I work on the X-Files cases of the NYPD or something."  
  
"You'd be surprised," Ian said under his breath.  
  
At the same time, Gabriel said "Or something," just as quietly as Ian.  
  
Looking to Ian for permission, Gabriel saw him reluctantly nod.   
  
"I meant to say Witchblade Sara," Gabriel said slowly.   
  
"Witchblade..." Sara repeated to herself. "When I say it, it sounds familiar. Witchblade..." Suddenly Sara looked down at her bracelet, which she had just noticed. "I didn't realize I was wearing this thing. This is it, isn't it?" She asked abruptly. "This is the Witchblade." Then, when it started to glow and whirl in the bright red center stone, she looked confused, but not scared or nervous.   
  
"What is it trying to tell you?" Ian asked softly.   
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Don't be afraid of it Sara," Gabriel instructed her.  
  
"I'm not," she said honestly. "I mean, it sounds impossible, but it's like this bracelet is somehow a part of me. Like it's a friend or companion." Realizing what she had just said, she quickly tried to cover up for her mistake of thinking aloud. "But that's impossible. It's just my imagination. Maybe it's my memory coming back." After a long pause, Sara asked, "Is this bracelet important to me?"  
  
Ian fielded this one. "You already know the answer to that Sara. Also, it's not your imagination when you say it's a part of you. Because of your job and life, your mind is based on logic, skepticism, and it turned you into a sort of cynic. You didn't trust what you couldn't understand. Now, without memories, you have innocence again, so you you're not as hardened against the unknown. You have the ability to fully trust and understand without questioning. That is a great gift because you need to trust the Witchblade. Sometimes the hardships you have endured in your life can interfere with that need."  
  
"What is it saying to you?" Ian asked her again.  
  
Closing her eyes and trying to relax, Sara suddenly saw what the Witchblade was trying to show her. As soon as her eyes had blocked out the last of external light, her mind was transported back through time. But unlike previous flashes, Sara was not getting a glimpse of the far past, she was getting an image of the near past. And unlike other visions where she could see past lives she had lived, the current view was that of herself, Sara Pezzini. She was in her apartment at night, and outside it was raining. And completely normal, Sara watched her past self quietly make a sandwich and sit down in front of a large stack of papers labeled with 'NYPD' at the top. But before Sara's pen could ever mark the first blank line of her reports, the phone rang. The current Sara couldn't hear what was being said on the other line, but from the look on the Sara of the time, it was exciting news. The past Sara told whoever it was on the other line that, "That's great. Are you sure he's there? Ok. Make sure he doesn't leave. Bye" Wondering why a bracelet had wanted her to see that, Sara slipped back into the time to which she belonged.  
  
"What did you see?"   
  
"I think I saw last night. I was going to do some paperwork, but someone called. I don't know who it was, but I was pleased with the person. Something about making sure some guy didn't leave the place where he was."  
  
Ian was the only one in the room who understood what that meant. Cortese, the arms and drugs dealer, was at that club last night. Sara went and most likely that's where her drink would have been drugged. But why was the blade trying to show her that? Was it really important? Maybe it wasn't trying to tell her about Cortese, maybe it was trying to tell her about...Ian searched for a way to complete that thought, but found none. He didn't understand the Witchblade's motives right now, but he could live with that.  
  
"What's in the folders Gabriel?" asked Sara, calling him by name for the first time that day.  
  
"Some stuff on a previous weilder. I'm not sure, but she might have been the first on to wear the Witchblade. Or if she's not she has to be getting close because she lived in a time further back than any other known wielder. Her name was Amara. Unfortuneatly, I couldn't find a ton of stuff on her, but I did find out that she was a storyteller who was also one of the ancient ancestors of the Inca. And there was a particular story that the Inca's have forever associated her, and that's what caught my eye."  
  
"What was the story?" Ian asked,  
  
"It's a creation story of what I think is the Witchblade. I think this woman Amara somehow created it or was created for her or something. The story has changed over the years though because nobody ever wrote the original one down. It was simply passed on through word of mouth. As a result all versions are significantly different, but there are common themes in all of them. The only problem is that she was a storyteller, and some parts, which are present in almost all accounts of the story, are impossible to believe. That means that she might have just made up a story based on what she could only guess.   
  
"Why would she bother to make it up?"  
  
"Several wielders in ancient times, all over the world, were thought to be witches or demons or sorcerers. People of their times could explain the powers of the Witchblade in anyway but magic. In the group of Inca's she lived in, the powers of the Witchblade could have done two things. 1. They could have made her an outcast. People would think she was in league with "evil forces" and she had to make up a story to prove that the Witchblade was truely good. 2. The Inca's would think her blessed, and revere her. She would be treated as a goddess. But for that to happen she would have to create a story that proves she really was blessed and chosen as special among all other women.   
  
"But under either of those circumstances, " Ian pointed out, "she could have told the truth and it would have worked because the Witchblade both blesses the chosens, and is the symbol of goodness."   
  
----  
  
"Where were you the night of Mr. Cross' murder?" Jake asked to Riko Besign  
  
"I was with Mr. Cortese!" the suspect insisted.  
  
Jake sighed. Cortese only had two business partners, Evenmere and Cross. Both had been murdered within the last week. Jake had worked with Sara on Evenmere, but the investigation lead nowhere. Now that Cross was murdered, everyone still suspected Cortese, but there was no way to prove it was him. So this was Jake's latest strategy: find one of Cortese's minions and make the minion believe he is the suspect. It might distract Cortese and make him sloppy. Granted it was a long shot, but with Cortese, it was his only shot. Jake just wished Sara was here to help him. The minion, Riko Besign, was proving to be no help.   
  
"But since Mr. Cortese refuses to come in for questioning, we have only your word for it."  
  
Riko make no move to reply.  
  
"Fine," Jake said impatiently. "You can spend the night in lockup and tomorrow we'll talk again."  
  
At this Riko finally started to look very unhappy. Technically, Jake keeping him in jail wouldn't be totally legal without basis that he was actually a suspect, and so he couldn't go through with it. But Jake needed a way to make Riko talk, and bluffing was the newest option. Besides, it was working.  
  
"All right, I'll tell you."  
  
Jake rocked back and forth in his chair, very pleased. Maybe this was going somewhere after all.  
  
"I did not kill him, but I know who did. And it was not Mr. Cortese," he said, reading Jake's mind.  
  
"Then who was it?" Jake asked, now very confused.  
  
"A tall man with silver hair. He looked like he was very rich, and drove up in a limo that night. He, Mr. Cortese, and Mr. Cross all talked awhile, but eventually it sounded like they were yelling. Mr. Cortese had given me orders to stay out of the room, and I didn't want to get him mad, so I went around the back of the house and peeked through the window. I saw the silver-haired man grab a gun of Cortese's desk and boom, he killed Mr. Cross! Then I heard him talk with Cortese again because the window was partially open. Silver haired man said that Mr. Cortese must do what he wanted or he would turn him into the police with all the evidence that would make it look like Cortese had murdered Cross. Cortese agreed to the extortionist, but he never killed Mr. Cross.   
  
Jake took all this in slowly. Was this guy actually telling the truth? It was unlikely, but if he could identify the silver haired man, then maybe this case could make some serious headway. "Mr. Besign, I would like you to look through our databases for this man that you say really did kill Cross. And if you are telling the truth, you can be protected." Jake knew that was a lie though. Once Cortese or the silver haired man (if there was one) found out, there was no way simple police could protect him.   
  
Like Sara, Jake knew that Cortese was not just an average drug dealer. He was an arms dealer too. And he had powerful friends. Sadly, once Riko left he would probably be killed within a week, police or not. But that didn't matter as much to Jake when he thought about his own life, and Sara's. Jake knew that Cortese was an international arms dealer from a few CIA hacks into databases. But to his knowledge, Sara didn't know about Cortese's other dealings. And that meant that once Cortese knew that his minion had been talking, he would go after an unprepared Sara. But what Jake did not know, was that Cortese already knew that Sara had found out about him dealing weapons. And that Cortese had already dealt. or at least had tried to deal with the problem.   
  
  
----  
  
About an hour later Jake came back to Riko. He had looked through hundreds of mugs of guys with silver or gray hair with a clerk. And the end result was nothing. In all likeliness, the guy was probably making it up. "Mr. Besign," he said sternly, "I don't give a lot of credit to your story, in fact I don't even believe you. It's only out of formality and tying up loose ends that I'm making sure. I by some miracle you are telling the truth, I suggest-"  
  
"That man!" Cortese said suddenly. "That's the man!"  
  
"Who?"  
  
But rather then point to the computer screen, Riko pointed to a newspaper on top of a stack of papers. Picking up it up, he pointed to the man on the front cover. "I'm telling the truth, and this is the man!"  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Riko nodded.  
  
"You can go for now Mr. Besign. I'm going to check up on your story. If I find out your lying to me-"  
  
"I am not."  
  
"Then go."  
  
As Riko walked out of the station, Jake reluctantly got up to go investigate the man who Riko claimed had been black-mailing Cortese, and who had murdered Cross. Looking at the headline of the paper, the ink read, "Local Collector Gives $1,000,000 in Art to Museum." Then below it was the picture of the new exhibit created out of the donated art. In the picture was Elise Monroe, the director of the museum, and beside her was the man whom Riko had pointed to, Kenneth Irons.   
  



	4. Loose Ends Come Together

Disclaimer: Does anyone even read this part any more? Does anyone care? I sure don't. But just for sakes, I'll say it again. I don't own anything. I don't have anything copyrighted. Everything belongs to Top Cow, TNT etc...  
  
----  
  
"Ok, I have to go." Gabriel told Sara and Ian. "I have to fly out to San Francisco for my niece's birthday, and if I stay any longer I'm gonna miss my flight."  
  
"Your flying all the way across the country just for your nieces birthday?" Sara asked unbelieving.   
  
"Her parents are offering to pay for the ticket and the hotel, so I figured I could go for the birthday, and then pay for a few extra days at the hotel, enjoy the sun and the beaches."  
  
"Have fun."  
  
"Don't worry, I will. And I'll be back 2 days after tomorrow."  
  
"Bye!" Sara called as Gabriel left.  
  
"So what did you think of the creation story Amara told?" Sara asked Ian.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"I don't know. Everyone seems to know more about this thing than me."   
  
"We need to find a way to get your memory back, and soon," Ian told her, changing the subject.  
  
"I want my memory back too, but what's the extreme rush?"  
  
"Remember when I told you about the man I work for, Kenneth Irons? He once tried to wear the Witchblade and well, the Witchblade doesn't allow itself to be worn by men. It scarred his hand, but it gave Irons a lifelong connection to it. He understands parts of what it thinks and knows. That means that if he doesn't know already, he will soon find out that you don't have your memory. When that happens, he'll try to take the Witchblade from you. It's his only chance because everyday the Witchblade becomes more and more a part of you. But now your vulnerable and Irons will consider it the golden opportunity to steal it away, and he may try to kill you as well." Seeing her worried face, he quickly added, "But don't worry. I'd never let that happen as long as I'm alive."  
  
Remembering her earlier question from the stairwell, she asked him again, "Who are you to me?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How do I know you? How long have we known each other? Why are you helping me?"  
  
Ian paused. There were about a hundred ways he could answer that question. Oh well, might as well take it slow with the basics. "We actually met once as children, though you probably don't remember. You helped me on a playground." At this she smiled. "Then a few months ago, we met again through my boss, Irons. When he tells me to help you I do, when he tells me not to I do anyway.   
  
"It's more then that though, isn't it?"  
  
Ian nodded. "But that can come later. Right now we need you memory back."  
  
"First step is figuring out what made me lose my memory."  
  
"We can't go to the hospital because by now Irons is probably watching them."  
  
"What else is there?"  
  
"We go to the source," Ian plainly stated.  
  
"But we don't know the source," Sara pointed out.  
  
"I believe I do."   
  
"You know how I got like this?!" Sara yelled.  
  
"No, but I have an idea."  
  
Trying to surpress her anger at him for the moment, Sara struggled to control her voice. "And what idea would that be what exactly?"  
  
Ian sat down on Sara's couch. This might take a while, and he still wasn't sure now was the best time to tell her. There is an arms dealer named Cortese. But very few people know that he deals and sumggles guns around the world. Everyone thinks he's just a common drug dealer who's killed a few people. You first became interested in him after he killed Joe Siri, an old family friend" Ian didn't go any further into that part. If Sara knew just how much she had cared about Siri, this would quickly turn into what it was before, a revenge escapade.   
  
"Then Cortese was suspected of killing his business partner Evenmere, who was stealing from Cortese. Yesterday you got an anonymous tip about Cortese's next meet, which was several hours later at another abandoned warehouse. You went and discovered that he was an arms dealer when you saw the trade was roughly ½ million in explosives in exchange for cash, not just drugs. Unfortunately, one of the guards saw you, but you didn't see them.   
  
"How do you know?" Sara interrupted.  
  
"I was there," he said in a way that sounded like should just explain it.   
  
"Since you didn't know that you had been spotted, you went to a nightclub where Cortese often hung out. He spotted you, and I think that one of the guards or advisors slipped something in your drink."  
  
"But that can't be the whole story," Sara pointed out. "If that was true then Cortese would have put a deadly chemical in the drink. What's the point in only erasing my memory? I would still have you, or my partner, or Gabriel or somebody else to help me figure out what happened. It makes no sense for him to wipe me of memories."  
  
"Maybe something went wrong," Ian offered. "Maybe the chemical interacted badly with the drink you had, or the wrong chemical could have been used. It's also possible you have a friend who works with Cortese. That person might have given you the tip. Or there are other possibilities."  
  
"You mentioned that Irons would probably steal the Witchblade from me, or even go as far as to kill to get the Blade. If he's that desperate is there a possibility that he might have been involved with all this?"  
  
"The thought occurred to me," Ian admitted. "But, I don't see how he could've had anything to do with it."  
  
"So you think we should go after Cortese?" Sara asked, turning the conversation back to what it had originally been.  
  
"I do."  
  
"One more thing Ian," Sara added, "no more secrets."  
  
"No more secrets."  
  
----  
  
Kenneth Irons paced his office worridly, not knowing what to do. Sara Pezzini had been growing too close to the Witchblade lately. She was learning how to control it's powers, and was needing his help less and less. His control over her would dwindle and eventually she would have no need for him at all. That could not be allowed to happen.  
  
And so for the last few months he had come up with a plan, relatively simple, and virtually untraceable to him. He wouldn't kill Sara, because the Witchblade wouldn't allow it. But messing with her memory so that she was defenseless, that he could pull off. What he hadn't counted on was Ian's pure devotion to her. He knew that Ian might rebel if he knew of Iron's intentions toward steeling the Witchblade from Sara. That much was apparent when he hadn't taken it from her at the Irish massacre. So Irons had devised this plan in secret and with vast caution. By the time Ian realized what was going on he would be too late. But even though he hadn't been able to save her from the chemical in her drink, he was helping her still. This, after Irons had told him specifically that his task was to take the Witchblade away from her. Ian had disobayed a direct order. For this high level of treason, no punishment other than death was acceptable. Ian Nottingham would not live to the end of the day.   
  
But this was all secondary. Without his faithful lapdog Irons had few options for getting the Witchblade away from Sara. As time passed and as Ian helped her more and more, Iron's chances diminshed with each passing second. He had to move soon if he wished to accomplish his goal.   
  
Since this morning his hand had been feeling odd. Then for several hours it had gone numb, like he couldn't feel it and as though it wasn't apart of his body. Obviously it was the Witchblade, confused and upset at what had been done to her wielder. Slowly the feeling was starting to come back though. Like Ian had predicted, he was having all the area hospitals and med facilities watched, as well as the apartment and the precinct.   
  
Suddenly, an intercom buzzed and a message appeared on his view screen. It read, "Detective McCarty here." A few seconds later, the doors opened and Jake McCarty stepped into the office.   
  
"Mr. Irons-," Jake began.  
  
"I know why you're here Detective," Irons jumped in. "Mr. Besign has been talking hasn't he?" Needing no answer, he continued. "But you have no evidence to support what you're thinking. Cortese killed both of his associates. As a matter of fact, I'd be happy to lend my resources for you to prove it."  
  
Despite the fact that he had not counted on such straight forwardness, Jake quickly recovered. "Listen, I have a witness that says you killed Cross, and if you did, you probably killed Evenmere too."  
  
"Your witness is hardly credible. He's a drug addict who started working for Cortese as a guaranteed supply of his next fix."  
  
"Cortese does deal some drugs, but it's just a cover for his arms dealing. But why do I think you already knew knew that?"  
  
"I did. But the fact remains that Besign has no reason to tell the truth. He has family that he actually cares about, and he'll protect them, knowing that they would die if Cortese found out of his treason. He is also dedicated to Cortese out of fear for his own life. The man clearly got nervous, and pointed to the first person he saw. Someone with so many reasons to stay loyal to Cortese, you can hardly take his word in this matter."  
  
"How do you know just what Besign said and did inside my office?"  
  
"I have my own friends within you precinct. They owe me favors and felt compelled to tell me when someone was falsely accusing me or a murder."  
  
Jake nodded understanding. Talking to Irons, he was now sure that Besign had been telling the truth, but as Irons pointed out, Besign wasn't a credible witness, and all evidence pointed to Cortese. There was no way anyone would believe Jake, let alone convict Irons. Before he could speak further, Irons cell phone rang.  
  
"Yes?" he answered. After several long pauses, Irons hung up on however was on the other end with no goodbye.  
  
"It appears Mr. Besign committed suicide this afternoon."  
  
"Suicide?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Jake turned around to leave. That interview had gotton him nowhere useful. All he knew now was that Kenneth Irons was extorting an arms dealer and that he had no proof or evidence at all. There was no way to even credibly suggest the story Besign had told. But he had to keep going with this. Besign had not committed suicide, so either Irons or Cortese or both had given him help. If that was true then his own life, and possibly Sara's were at stake as well. He had to get to her. Jake just hoped that she hadn't left for Ireland yet.  
  
Taking out his cell phone. Jake dialed Sara's home phone again. It rang 3 times, but on the third someone finally picked up.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Sara, It's me, Jake."  
  
"I thought I told you I needed some me-time right now."  
  
"Sara, there have been developments with Cortese. Somehow I think he's being black-mailed by Kenneth Irons-"  
  
"Irons?" Sara interrupted.   
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Listen Jake, I actually think that we need to talk. Wanna meet?"  
  
"Definitely." From the background he could hear that Sara had set down the phone and was talking to somebody. It was a guy, and from what he could tell Guy X did clearly not approve and agreee with Sara's invite.  
  
A few seconds later she came back on. "I'll meet you at the pool hall (I don't know it's name) in 20 minutes."  
  
"I'll be there," Jake confirmed. 


	5. Who Knows What About Who and Why

Disclaimer: This is part 5 in my story. Don't you think that I owned anything or anyone in this story I would've mentioned it by now? Really...   
  
----  
  
Jake walked up to the bar where Sara was waiting. Thing was, she wasn't waiting alone, she was waiting with a man. He looked familiar, but Jake couldn't quite place him. Then suddenly, it hit him. This was THE guy. The guy who had knocked him out at the Rialto, the guy who had spied on him and Sara at the ad agency, the guy who was just a general pain in the ass as far as Jake was conccerned, and now he was just sitting right next to Sara.  
  
"What's going on?" he asked.  
  
"Sit down," Ian instructed, leaving no room for refusel.  
  
"Who the hell are you anyway?" Jake asked, almost yelling.  
  
"Jake, please sit down," Sara told him in a nicer tone.  
  
Because it was Sara who had asked, he took the seat next to her and waited for an explanation. Just for effect, he moved his coat slightly to clearly reveal his holstered gun. Ian did the same.   
  
Sara sighed. From what she could tell these two clearly did not like each other. And not just in the way Gabriel and Ian had interacted. Gabriel had clearly been scaredd of Ian and Ian had been annoyed toward Gabriel. But Jake was clearly angry at Ian and Ian looked extremely annoyed and untrustingly toward Jake. Something told Sara that the slightest unexpected movement or provocation would result in…well, Sara sure didn't want to find out.   
  
"Jake, this is Ian. He's a friend , and I think that you're a friend of mine too. As a result," she said, eyeing both guys, "I want you two to be nice to each other."  
  
"What do you mean you THINK I'm a friend?" Jake asked, slightly offended.   
  
"It's complicated, give me a break. As far as I'm concerned, I don't even know you."  
  
"What'd I do?" Asked Jake, taking this out of context. Deciding not to take Ian's advice, Sara began telling Jake of why she was the way she was.  
  
"Listen Jake, I have no memories right now. From what I can guess, Cortese slipped something in my drink last night at a club, and I have very little patience left, and if you too start killing each other, I WILL officially lose it, understood!" Sara said loudly, out of breath. "Now," she said calming down,"this is actually pretty simple. Apparently I found out that Cortese is actually an international ar-"  
  
"Arms dealer," Jake finished for her. "How could you have known that?"  
  
"I got an anonymous tip telling about his next meet. I went and found that out. I tried to follow him but I couldn't. Later that night I got a phone call from a friend of mine at a club who told me he was there. I went and something got put in my drink. I went home and went to sleep. When I woke up I had no memories."  
  
Taking this all in very slowly, Jake asked, "So your not going to Ireland for Conchobar's funeral?"  
  
Sara shook her head impatiently, "I don't even know who Conchobar is. All I know is what Ian told me. Besides, why would I spend all the money to fly to Ireland for the funeral of a friend who I hadn't even seen recently, who lived in another country?'  
  
Catching Ian's lie, Jake quickly decided to abide. Ian was right about lying to Sara on that subject. After Joe Siri had died, she had been hellbent on revenge against Cortese. Then Conchobar had died and she had gone into premature depression. Those were too phases that Jake didn't want Sara to have to re-live. Jake also assumed that if Nottingham had lied about Conchobar, he had probably also lied about Siri.   
  
Turning his attention back to the present, Jake told Sara and Ian about Besign and about Irons.   
  
"If Irons blackmailed Cortese into poisoning Sara's drink to make her vulnerable," Ian said carefully, avoiding anything that might lead to the Witchblade, "it would make sense the way he did it. It also means that the anonymous phone calls were probably from Irons or a paid employee. Irons wanted to make sure that Sara found out about his true occupation."  
  
"Why would he do that?"  
  
Taking the question the wrong way, Ian explained, "If somehow this ever got to court, which it never will, the jury would simply see it as Sara found out and Cortese dealt with her. There would be no room for Irons in the picture. It would make everything appear very simple and understandable to the outside world."  
  
"That's not what I meant. I meant why would he go through all the trouble to make her lose her memory?"  
  
This time Sara was the one who realized that everyone was not on the same information level. Jake didn't know about the Witchblade, Sara could tell. And since she had apparently known Jake for a while, if she had never told Jake about it before, Sara wasn't about to now. She would instead wait until she had all memories back before she made any major decisions. And something told Sara that telling someone about the Witchblade was a major decision.   
  
"We need to find Cortese," Ian told Jake, ignoring his earlier question.   
  
"He's in hiding right now so it won't be easy."  
  
"What about computer hacking?"   
  
"What about it?"  
  
"You work for Irons, you must know his system," Jake told Ian.   
  
"I know computers and the system," Ian admitted, "just not well. They aren't exactly my specialty."  
  
"But you could try," Sara prompted.   
  
"I'd need a pretty advanced hookup and some serious equitment."  
  
"That might be a problem," Jake admitted.   
  
"Not nessecarily," Sara pointed out. "We could use Gabriel's computer. It's not a Cray but I know the guy made it more updated and advanced then your average PC."  
  
"It would probably work," Ian conceded.  
  
"So let's go find Gabriel."  
  
"He's out of town," Sara explained.   
  
"He was in-town this morning."  
  
"He left for California earlier today, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we-"  
  
"broke into his apartment," Jake finished.   
  
"Let's go," Ian said, ignoring Jake.  
  
----  
  
Cortese was about to go ballistic. He should have never gotten involved with Irons and that stupid girl. But he had no reason not to. Irons would turn him into the cops for the murders of Evenmere and Cross, and the cops would give their right legs to crucify him. And all Irons had wanted was for a guy to slip something in her drink. It wouldn't even kill her! At the time it hadn't been a hard decision. But now as he thought about it, he was more nervous. There was nothing to stop Irons from still turning him. Plus, once Irons did, Cortese would have nothing to even prove he had ever known Irons. As he thought about it more and more today, Cortese started to think like Ian and realize that Irons really had devised the perfect little plot. Somehow she had spotted him at his last deal and the fact that he had slipped something in her drink would surprise no one. Besides, who would ever believe that a billionare would go to all that trouble to wipe the memory of one cop. Cortese had no way out, and he knew it. 


End file.
